Here we are as we sit and rejoice
Singing in union for God one voice,
Today the first if his son's advent
Voices of his children from heaven sent.

Today we gather to share our gifts he gave
Sharing in a world he died to save,
I looked over and wondered why ideas called hear,
This I Did for a year now it's very clear.

Each Sunday we begin with a song to start
A smile; a handshake, a hug even a hello,
No matter which it's a welcome from the heart
A prayer; a recital; a chat; a refreshment afore ye go.

It's in the Lord we come to rejoice
United as one he hears our voice,
The children go to learn and play
Joyfully returning with what they made today.

Today isn't just any Sunday
It's the first of four in our advent,
Born of Mary and Joseph in a manger he lay
Two thousand years passed to return one day.

Remembering our saviour like loved ones who pass,
As we sit at the table waiting for Christmas.

copyright Grant Dickson 03/12/2017

Waking from a short sleep
From the curtains I did take a peep,
The sky it did look ugly I did say
Was something wicked on its way.

Pondering within the present moment
Feeling intrigued about what it meant,
Had I woken from a dream into reality
Or was it the reality of a dream to me

Visions of late I'm sure we've all had
Pain and suffering it's just so sad,
Thoughts of nuclear nightmares
Clasping hands we'd say our prayers.

Returning to the window we go
Waiting to see if the sun will glow,
Then it appeared orange blood red
Picturing Mysterious skies sat on my bed.

You see me Hurrying and scurrying
Gathering my food cautiously,
Looking around constantly worrying
Sneaking around precociously.

Weaving; bobbing, always dodging
Bushy tailed little scavenger I am,
So may despise me as I dwell in their lodging
But all I want is a home so don't give a dam.

Climbing my tree like a famous mountaineer
Old and young will wave or sit and say hello,
Quickly I think it's time to evacuate from here
The all clear I see and again on the ground I go.

Fluffy and Grey sometimes even Red
Speeding around among the leaves,
Time to nest and put my children to bed
Until once more the summer itself retrieves.

Grant Dickson 04/09/2017

This poem was inspired by a Squirrel

I was in love for once,
I was in maybe love twice,
I was in love more than thrice,
but was I ever really in love.

You may ask yourself this,
You may come to the same conclusion,
You may even still think you are,
But do you ever stop to ask yourself.

We walk around with permanent smiles,
We hold hands almost scared to let go,
We cuddle so close we can hear our heartbeats,
But are we suffocating the air from our bond.

Alas all that was beautiful has now turned ugly,
Alas all flowers have died like in the cold winter,
Alas all the happiness turned to sadness,
But most of all the laughter now into tears.

I loved along time ago not once,
not twice, not maybe more than thrice,
none was truer than the time you said,
But you said I'm in love with you, not just I love you and for a second I believed it true.

T'was the night before school,
and all through the house.
Not a sound could be heard,
Not even a mouse.
It's that time again good grief ,
the uniforms nicely pressed .
Parents gave a sigh of relief,
kids back to school looking there best.
Hip hop hooray we all say,
at least till the next holiday.

Copyright Grant Dickson 14/08/2015

Worn out to extent of collapse,
My body clock about to elapse.
Turning from a strong mountain,
Cascading like a giant fountain.
Crumbling into a pile of rock,
Life slowing hearing it tick tick.
Feeling it's time to close my eyes,
Waiting for tomorrow's hidden disguise.
Time to dim the bright light,
Then with a sigh say night night.
This bodies ready for the heap,
Sweet Dreams my friends it's time to sleep.
© Grant Dickson 09/02/2016

The smell of burnt toast
The smoke alarm sounding
The Sweet aromatic hint of coffee
The familiar sound of breakfast TV
The erratic coughing of the old Lady
The constant barking of next doors hounds.
The Siblings shouting at each other while dressing .
The babies shallow cry all from an open window.
Then the regimental voice we all know and come to love.

" Shurrup you're all giving me a headache" and the split second silence followed by  " Oye you up yet C'mon you'll be late AGAIN !!"
The passionate loving voice of a stressed Mother sorting her troops.

Alas the neglected sound of silence fills the air...........until tomorrow.

©Grant Dickson 04/03/2016